


Run Away And Take Me With You

by darkestbliss



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Depression, Drug Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/F, Femlock, Genderswap, Hurt/Comfort, Rule 63, Self-Harm, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkestbliss/pseuds/darkestbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Watson's life as a nurse at St. Bart's is a never-ending coil of late nights and coffee. One particular patient - a suicidal, drug addicted genius named Sherlock Holmes - breaks that coil in a matter of seconds.</p><p>Title taken from the Muse song "Save Me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle down folks, this one is going to be tough. Prepare for a lot of angst, and make sure to read the warnings <3 First and foremost I want people to take care of themselves, so please don't read this if it will trigger things for you! This is currently un-betad, if anyone would like to be a beta just let me know because I am looking for one :) <3

The lights of the break room were dizzying and bright, far too bright for the time it was. Jane sipped her coffee; it was too weak for 3:25 in the morning, and didn’t offer nearly enough of the warmth or energy she seeked. Soon enough she’d trudge back to her flat, get a few hours of sleep, then wake up to come back to the hospital for another shift on Sunday. Friday nights and Saturday mornings were always the hardest, but for a very different reason than most of her fellow mates who found themselves drunk on too many colorful shots then hungover beyond belief the following morning.

 

Sighing as she looked at the clock and saw the minute hand reach the six Jane poured the remaining bit of her coffee down the sink and washed up, stretching one last time before adjusting her scrubs and walking back into the crowded hallway.

 

“Watson,” came a stern voice from behind her. “We need you in room five.”

 

She nodded quickly, her dirty blonde hair pushed up her hot forehead as she turned around to follow the male nurse who’d spoken to her into room five. Upon seeing the very drunk and disoriented man tumbling about as multiple nurses tried to calm him down, Jane took a big sigh and heaved herself into the situation.

 

It wasn’t until an hour of restraints, blood tests, and the police getting involved with the drunkard that Jane was finally able to go home.

 

“Have a nice weekend, Jane,” her workmate Molly Hooper called as Jane grabbed her bag and mobile phone from her locker.

 

“See ya Molls,” she said. “Don’t have too much fun with Greg tonight.”

 

“Far too knackered for that,” the thin brunette said with a chuckle and a wave. “Get some sleep today, and maybe treat yourself to a film. You deserve it! I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early!”

 

Jane dipped her head and pulled her jumper close around her as she walked out into the street, wishing she’d brought something a little warmer for the short 15 minute walk back to her flatshare. The streets were mostly deserted, a few stray drunks stumbling their way to St. Paul’s station to somehow find a way home after a long night of drinking. Coincidental that they were right next to St. Bart’s; at least they’d be in good hands when they drunkenly fell down the escalators and injured themselves.

 

“How was work?” Jane’s housemate Michelle said as the young nurse all but collapsed onto the sofa upon arriving home.

 

“Hmph.”

 

“That bad, eh?” Michelle giggled, starting to prepare breakfast as Jane trudged up the stairs, wanting nothing more than her bed and a good nine hours of sleep. She knew that with the nightmares she would get two at the most.

 

~

 

“Slow day today, eh Watson?”

 

Jane remained silent, stirring milk into her tea and trying to ignore the other presence in the break room. She was two hours away from finally having a Friday night to herself - the first in over two months - and the last thing she wanted was small talk from Philip Anderson. He was tolerable, even pleasant to most, but Jane had never enjoyed his company and reckoned she never would.

 

“You fancy coming over after? I reckon there’s a footie game on and I know a great Chinese takeaway not far from my flat, it’d be lovely to get to know each other outside of work.

 

“Not tonight,” Jane said flatly, still with her back turned to Philip. “I’ve got plans.” This was the fifth time he’d asked her out in the past two weeks, and the fifth time she’d rejected.

 

“What, you got a date with some other bloke?”

 

Jane rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to look him in the eye. “Listen Anderson, I appreciate the thought, I really do, but I’ve told you six times now, I’m not interested. And even if I did have a date-” She laughed internally to herself, because when was the last time Jane Watson had had a date? “-I doubt it’d be with another bloke.”

 

When Philip’s mouth dropped, Jane just shrugged and walked away.

 

~

 

Jane’s Friday night to herself never came. Just as she swung her coat around her shoulders and made to leave, there was panic in the corridor just to her left.

 

“Watson, we need you in here, and quick!”

 

Grumbling, she followed the voice of the head nurse, finding him and a group of others quickly wheeling a gurney toward a secluded room. Someone important, then. She walked in, preparing for the worst, and was met with just that.

 

It was just a girl, couldn’t be any older than 19. Her skin was stone white and nearing a blue color, her inner elbow was bruised where needles had been stuck, her neck was clenching and hard, and her wrists were slit and still rushing. Blood and vomit stained her clothes, clothes which looked like they once belonged to someone with composure, with class, someone with lots of money. This girl, this dying girl with knotted brown curls and dead eyes was not that sort of person.

 

“What’ve we got?” Another nurse said as he rushed in, running past a shocked Jane Watson.

 

“Suicide attempt - possible overdose, possible alcohol poisoning, slit wrists. Watson, start putting pressure on her wrists!”

 

Jane just blinked, trying to find the air in her lungs to breathe.

 

“Watson!”

 

Jane couldn’t move. The girl’s eyes were cloudy and desperate, dying, but were looking straight toward Jane. They showed stories that may never get to be told, stories and thoughts which would die with her.

 

Already, someone had moved forward, holding pressure against the girl’s arms as one of the emergency physicians ran into the room, a very important looking man just behind him, twirling an umbrella and looking disappointedly at the girl.

 

Jane had to sit down, she had to get out of that room. It hit too close to home, reminding her of nights spent in the hospital when her mum overdosed after her dad was arrested. It reminded her of countless days of taking the train to visit Harry at the rehab center in Portsmouth.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to Molly who was looking at her worriedly as she snapped on her gloves.

 

Jane rushed out of the room and toward the nearest toilet, barely making it there in time before hitting the floor and throwing up the sandwich and cup of tea she’d just had on her break two hours before.

 

“Jane?” came a concerned voice. It was Molly. “I know it hits a bit close, but Christ, we need you in there. Please, she needs you.”

 

Closing her eyes and taking steady breaths, Jane slowly stood up, reaching to wipe her face and then flush the toilet. “I’m coming,” she said quietly. Ignoring her clammy skin and tearing eyes, she followed Molly back to the room where panic was still everywhere.

 

Bloody gauzes were everywhere. Jane couldn’t bear the sight of them, so she turned away.

 

“Watson!” shouted the emergency physician. “I need you to take over for Williams, just keep pressure on the wrists and try and keep her calm, the drugs are wearing off and she’ll gain consciousness pretty soon. We don’t want her to go into any convulsions.”

 

“Have we ruled out alcohol poisoning?” asked another nurse.

 

“Yes, right now let’s focus on the bleeding and getting her on naloxone to counteract the heroin. It’s not as bad as it could be but we still want to be careful. She’s already lost a lot of blood.”

 

Jane blindly followed orders. Her ears were ringing and her vision was spotty, so she stood near the girl’s head and started to mumble pointless words to her. The rest of the room became a blur; a physician took over for her and people moved all around, doing their own things but working together to save the girl’s life.

 

Jane talked and talked, not listening to her own voice but the very shallow breathing of the girl beside her. “It’s going to be okay,” she said over and over, not sure if she was talking to the patient or herself. “It’ll all be okay.”

  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta! If anyone is interested, let me know <3

Plastic chairs were not comfortable, especially for sleeping in at the most random of hours. Jane couldn’t even remember what a bed felt like; she’d been sleeping in that chair for forever, it felt. Every time Molly would go out and bring her coffee from Costa or Caffe Nero it was like a miracle to not have to taste the bitter coffee from the decades old machine in the break room at the hospital.

 

“Jane,” Molly said, handing her a croissant and cup of coffee. “You have to go home. You’ve been here for two days.”

 

Jane just shook her head, taking a bite of the sweet, flaky treat. Her stomach jumped, reminding her she had to go out and eat a proper meal sometime soon instead of the shit they offered at the cafeteria.

 

“Jane... I’m serious.” Molly stepped forward, lowering her voice. “You look like shit.”

 

“Thanks,” said Jane flatly, narrowing her eyes into a glare.

 

“Just trying to be honest. We’ve got to look out for each other, yeah?”

 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“S’okay.” Molly sat down next to Jane, bringing her in for a close hug. “You know that, right?”

 

Jane nodded, mustering up a smile.

 

“Good,” said Molly. “I’m clocking out early, anniversary dinner with Greg tonight. Why don’t you go home and treat yourself with a bath, yeah? She’ll still be here tomorrow when you come back.”

 

“You’re right,” Jane said, standing up.

 

“I always am,” giggled Molly, standing as well and grabbing her purse and street clothes. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

Jane waved, then made her way down the corridor and to a small recovery room which was isolated from all the others.

 

“Hello,” she said softly to Mycroft, the tall man she’d seen with the umbrella when the girl had first been brought in.

 

“Miss Watson,” he said with a nod. “Mummy is coming to visit her later today.”

 

Jane just hummed in response, and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes,” she whispered.

 

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing we’re not used to in this family. Sherlock has always been getting herself into trouble.”

 

“That doesn’t make it any easier, though!” Jane exclaimed, shocked. “Mr. Holmes, from what you’ve said to me, your sister is severely depressed-”

 

“Believe me, Miss Watson, I know,” he whispered, moving forward to brush his fingers over the forehead of his sleeping younger sister.

 

Jane smiled sadly, letting her eyes fall over the sleeping form of one Sherlock Holmes. It’d been two days, and her thin body was still comatosed from the heavy drugs pumped into her system. Jane didn’t want to miss when Sherlock woke up; she had to make sure she was there for her, because from what she’d learned with her small conversations with Mycroft, Sherlock had never had anyone before.

 

“I’m going to head home this evening,” she said a few minutes later after watching Sherlock’s chest rise and fall. “Here...” She scribbled down her number on a stray piece of paper and set it on the side table by Sherlock’s hospital bed where a single bouquet of flowers were set. “I want you to call me if she wakes up before I get back tomorrow, yeah?”

 

Mycroft nodded, then excused himself as he picked up his mobile and left the room. The man was certainly a mystery to Jane; he was always dressed to the nines and excusing himself from Sherlock’s room. And he always had that bloody umbrella with him.

 

Shaking her head, Jane looked at Sherlock for a few more seconds before finally going back to the break room and changing out of her scrubs for the first time in over two days.

 

~

 

Steaming cup of tea and book in hand, Jane walked into her bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She set her tea and book on the counter and began to run the hot water tap in the bathtub, ensuring it was a nice, warm temperature. She stripped off her jumper and jeans and stared at herself in the full length mirror on the door, frowning at how tired and, quite frankly, how old she looked. Her body was that of the young woman she was; her hips were wide and her thighs touched in the middle and her breasts were large. Over the years she’d learned to love her body, but she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to love the permanent bags under her eyes or the wrinkles which were already forming on her face. Molly had been right; she looked like shit.

 

Unbuckling her bra and stepping out of her panties, Jane sank into the warm water of the bath, watching as colors and bubbles swirled around her nipples, tummy, and knees. She’d decided to treat herself with a bath bomb, one meant especially for stress.

 

As she sipped her tea and let the water lap at her sore and tired limbs, her mind wandered back 48 hours to the day Sherlock was brought into St. Bart’s. Jane couldn’t remember details of the day; it was all quite a blur for her. What she could remember was fear and panic and the pleading looks from Sherlock’s barely conscious eyes.

 

Jane wondered when the last time Sherlock Holmes got to enjoy a bath as she was doing now. She decided once the young girl was better, she would buy her some things so she could relax a bit. Jane wasn’t sure why she cared for her so much; perhaps it was the very intimate job Jane had been assigned when Sherlock was rushed in, or perhaps it was the nature of Sherlock’s attempt, one Jane herself had had thoughts of from time to time when she was younger and attempting to deal with her abusive father. Regardless, Jane cared about Sherlock Holmes, and wanted to make sure she never had to see her in that sort of state ever again.

 

“Oh Sherlock,” Jane whispered to herself as she thought more and more about the troubled girl. Tears began to splash into the bath water and Jane shook her head, willing herself not to get upset again by how personal Sherlock’s hardships were. Plus, she didn’t even know the details of Sherlock’s depression, or really anything at all about the girl’s life. All she knew was from Mycroft, and that told her nothing except for the fact that the Holmes were a wealthy family and that Mycroft was important. Like, really important.

 

Laughing at the thought of Mycroft being crazy important, like part of the British government or something, Jane squirted shampoo into her hands and began to lather her shoulder length dirty blonde hair. She hummed softly to herself, enjoying the fizz of the bath bomb and the quiet sound of her housemates outside.

 

It’d been a long two days, but Molly was right. Jane really needed the time to herself to relax and empty her mind. Her work was often her personal life, but she also needed to be reminded that that wasn’t always the case. Sherlock was hurting, but she also wasn't going anywhere soon. And besides, a proper sleep was good for Jane; it made her better to talk to, that is, if Sherlock were to wake up and actually want to talk.

 

Jane’s bed was warm and engulfing. Even the stiff old mattress and ratty sheets were a million times better than the plastic chairs she’d been sleeping in for the past few days. Setting her alarm for six the next morning, a whole nine hours away, she wiggled her toes and snuggled in tight, ready for a good night’s sleep, or at least the closest thing to it that she could get.

 

When her phone rang with the hospital’s number just two hours later, Jane was still wide awake, plagued with the fear of shutting her eyes and having the nightmares start all over again.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The hospital was quiet when she arrived; a few patients sat in the waiting room, but for the most part, it was all calm. Jane made her way down the corridors and to Sherlock’s room. Preparing herself with a deep breath, she nudged open the door and walked in.

 

The girl was slightly propped up. To her side sat Mycroft, discussing something with her quite intently. Jane cleared her throat.

 

“Ah,” said Mycroft, standing up. “Sherlock, this is Jane. She was the nurse who looked after you most.”

 

“I know,” said Sherlock. Her voice was quiet and hoarse, but she sounded bored. 

 

“Do be polite, sister dear.”

 

“Shut up, Mycroft,” spat the girl, her voice now clear as she sat up straight, briefly wincing in pain then looking disinterested once again.

 

Mycroft shook his head. “Jane, mind if I speak to you? Alone?”

 

Jane, who’d been quiet for the entirety of the short discussion, blankly nodded her head, slightly in shock that Sherlock was awake and talking and seemed  _ bored _ even though she’d almost died only a couple nights before.

 

“I must leave immediately for something... Classified. But Mummy came the other day for an hour, and she should visit again sometime soon in the next few days,” spoke Mycroft when they were outside the door. 

 

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Your sister almost died and you’re just going to leave now that she’s woken up?!”

 

“Oh please, Jane, it’s nothing we’re not used to in the family. Besides, the nation’s security is depending on this.”

 

“What are you?! The fucking prime minister of England?” Jane hissed beneath her breath, outraged at how little Mycroft seemed to care about Sherlock and giving little care for her lack of professionalism. 

 

“Goodbye Jane, I will be back later.”

 

And with that, Mycroft left, umbrella in hand as always. Flustered, Jane went back into Sherlock’s room where another nurse was now checking her IV. She had no clue what this family was. Who were Sherlock’s parents? Why had they only visited the one time? Why was Mycroft always acting like he was so damned important? And why on earth did Jane  _ care  _ so much?

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” came a quiet but sure voice from behind her.

 

Jane turned around to face Sherlock, her forehead wrinkling. “Sorry?”

 

“Your father, which one was it? Did he fight in Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

“Afghanistan... Sorry, how did you know that?”

 

“I didn’t know,” said Sherlock, gingerly reaching for a glass of water beside the table. Jane tried to avoid looking at the thick white bandages on her wrists. “I saw.”

 

“Pardon?” asked Jane, stunned. She’d moved to stand beside Sherlock and began looking through her file, just to make herself seem useful.

 

“I deduced it, Jane,” said Sherlock, that bored tone clouding her voice again.

 

“But how?”

 

“I... Ah!” Sherlock’s eyes suddenly squeezed shut as she let out a tiny noise of pain. She took deep breaths, and Jane quickly switched over to nurse mode, ensuring that nothing about Sherlock’s breathing or condition was irregular. Sherlock looked down at her covered left arm and let out a soft whine.

 

“You severed a tendon and permanently damaged the nerves in your arm,” Jane explained when Sherlock looked up at her with pain in her eyes. “It’s going to hurt for a long time.”

 

“It didn’t hurt this bad last time.”

 

Jane flinched, but continued acting professionally. She boosted Sherlock’s morphine levels to help her with the pain; the girl must have lowered them at some point. “You know, actually using the pain medication we’re giving you might help,” Jane said quietly.

 

“Mycroft doesn’t want me putting too many drugs into my body. Says it’s a risk.”

 

“Yeah well,” Jane mumbled under her breath. “Mycroft is also a prick.”

 

Jane heard the soft sound of upturned lips. “I like you, Jane Watson,” said Sherlock, her voice faint but hinted with a smile.

 

“Why don’t you rest for a bit. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“Sleeping is boring.”

 

“Is it now?”

 

“Yes. And being a nurse who gets, at most, 25 hours of sleep a week, you should of course understand that it poses many obstacles.”

 

“Okay,” said Jane, a bit scared that Sherlock  _ somehow _ knew that about her. “I have a few other patients to check up on. When I get back, you’d better be asleep.”

 

The girl rolled her eyes, but leaned back regardless. Jane watched from the doorway as her eyes almost immediately drooped shut, her breathing mellowing out. Assured she would be all right, Jane made her rounds, coming back to Sherlock’s room every ten minutes or so to ensure she was okay.

 

~

 

“How long has your brother been an alcoholic?”

 

Jane stopped in her tracks. It was a few days later; Sherlock was recovering but still exhausted from the entire ordeal and too weak to leave hospital. She was sleeping throughout the days, her body thin and ill. Jane had been checking her charts and Sherlock was just finishing up one of her liquid meals when the younger spoke.

 

“No, you can’t possibly know that,” Jane exclaimed, shaking her head. “Who told you, was it Anderson?!” Jane was enraged that such personal information would be spread like that. She knew Anderson was a dick, but she didn’t think he was  _ that _ much of a dick.

 

Sherlock smiled mischievously, licking a bit of her pudding from the plastic spoon she held in her frail hand. “No, it wasn’t Anderson. Though I do not argue that he would do such a thing. I deduced it, Jane. You should have figured this all out by now.”

 

Jane shook her head. In the past few days, Sherlock’s waking moments were full of deductions about Jane’s life, from her housemates to her strange sleeping schedule. She didn’t mind the deductions, really. In fact, she was enamored by Sherlock’s brilliance. The fact that Sherlock had deduced Harry’s alcoholism rather than heard about it made a weird sense of relief spread through her body. She found that she didn’t really mind Sherlock knowing such personal things. Perhaps it was because she had been there with Sherlock through such a personal experience.

 

“You know,” she said. “It’s generally not polite to expose such personal things to people.” She continued checking Sherlock’s charts.

 

“Not good?”

 

“Mmm, a bit not good.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all fine,” Jane said softly, moving to look at Sherlock. “In fact, I think it’s brilliant.”

 

Sherlock seemed to perk up at that. “That’s not what people usually say.”

 

“And what do they usually say?” Jane asked, looking at the younger girl.

 

Sherlock cracked a smile, the first Jane had ever seen. “Piss off.”

 

~

 

“Mummy is taking me back to the estate this evening.”

 

Jane stopped in her tracks as she entered Sherlock’s room. The girl was out of bed and hunched over a bag, dressed in black trousers and a purple blouse. Jane knew this day would be coming. Over the past couple of weeks, Sherlock’s physical condition had continued to improve, and she was required to stay at the hospital merely for observation reasons. They usually didn’t allow patients to stay so long; they were typically moved to the psych ward once they were stable, but apparently Sherlock wasn’t welcome there anymore. Jane hated that the young girl even had to be there in the first place. It just reiterated that this hadn’t been Sherlock’s first attempt to end her life.

 

“I’m not going to die the second I walk out of here, you know.”

 

Jane looked over at Sherlock, who was sitting back down on her bed, tracing over the lines of her bandages. “I never said you were,” said Jane.

 

“You were thinking it, though,” replied Sherlock.

 

Jane frowned, because it was true.

 

“But there’s something else,” said Sherlock. “Something I can’t deduce.” She stared at Jane quizzically for a few moments, never blinking. It was eerie, the way she was looking at Jane, but the nurse would’ve let her stare forever if it meant Sherlock would never be in danger again. “You are peculiar, Jane Watson.”

 

Jane just shook her head. She was just Jane.

 

 


End file.
